Going to the eye doctor makes me a little anxious.
"Is this better? Or this? This one, or this?" The questions come quickly along with the clicking.
I want to give the right answer, really I do. But it all happens so fast. I know he is trying to fit me for the very best glasses, but I still have the sinking feeling that the doctor will
abruptly say, "You jerk. You are wrong. This one is not better!"
My cousin once showed me something I have never forgotten. She laid a pair of forks on the table and asked me to choose the best one.
I stared. I looked for clues. I worried. I think my blood pressure went up. Probably my cholesterol too. Then, tentatively, I picked one, poised for her to shout, "Right!" or "Wrong!" I felt no joy, only uncertainty that I had picked the
wrong one.
Then she laid a pair of spoons down. She picked one up and gave it to me. I looked at her face. I said "Thank you," as she placed it in my hand. I smiled. She smiled. I felt grateful for the spoon.
Such a simple gesture, really. But it showed me the difference between a gift and the pressure of picking for myself. All right, all right, calm down. I am not saying that we should never choose for ourselves. But I am curious
about the different ways those processes feel.
Unless you live in Bombay, you probably picked your own spouse. Perhaps there was some anxiety around the choosing, using up gobs of air time as you analyzed his personality with twenty seven personal dating coaches for potential character unbalances. Maybe it was as instantaneous as the scene in "Sleepless in Seattle" where she hears him on the radio and just knows.
But in either case,
God has given this person to you to love and respect... today. You can stare, and look for clues that he is really the right one. You can second guess your decision, worry, and feel your blood pressure rise. You may ask disillusioned girlfriends " Did I marry the wrong guy?"
Or you can open your eyes each morning, look into his unwashed face, smile, and say "Thank you for marrying me."
